


Snow

by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:04:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle had never seen snow before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Belle's first white Christmas. For the darling mydarling-belle.
> 
> For the Rumbelle Secret Santa exchange on tumblr.

She has something to say; that much is clear. Usually when his little maid brings a tray loaded with a fresh pot of tea and a clean cup (and maybe a pastry or two for his sweet tooth), she’d set it down and promptly leave. But when his gaze steals over his shoulder from his worktable, he sees her lingering, obviously building up the courage to ask something. Knowing her, it won’t take her long.

“Could you unlock the doors?” Belle asks, as if on cue. She is wearing a light green dress today, the fabric heavier than her usual blue. It goes prettily with her chestnut hair, even if it doesn’t match her eyes.

“Of course I could, dear,” Rumplestiltskin trills, turning back to his potion and thumbing through a rather large book. “What a simple thing it would be. A snap of my fingers, really.” 

His maid frowns. “Would you?”

“And why,” he says without moving to face her, “would I do that?”

She sighs as if she is trying to explain to someone why the sky is blue (although it isn’t blue right now. No, right now it was a sickly gray, warning of a coming storm), and says, “Because it’s been a long time since I’ve been outside.”

Outside. Rumplestiltskin tilts his head, curious. Why would she want to go out there, out in the cold and the wind and the snow? The only reasonable explanation would be to escape – to make her way through the snow and sleet to the valley below. In fact, every door and window is barred precisely for that reason.

“I won’t run away,” she swears quickly, seemingly reading his thoughts. “Besides, were could I go? How would I even know how to get there? I’m betting the paths are all blocked and hidden by the snow.”

“But why now? That’s the question.” He pranced over to the tray, unsurprised when Belle didn’t move away from his close proximity. She’s never truly had a healthy sense of fear when it came to him, not really. He taps her twice on the bridge of her nose. “You want something. Spit it out, girl.”

Her lip twitches, as if she were trying not to smile. “I can see holly bushes that grow past the gate, nearer the forest. If I can cut some branches off, I can use it to decorate the halls and corridors.”

“Decorate.” Rumplestiltskin deadpans. “Is that what you call the hanging of my gold thread?”

Belle has taken skeins of it and woven it around the banisters, wrapped it around candlesticks and doorways. She’s even braved the ladder and hung it from the walls.

“Well there’s only so much I can use, and it’s not like you’re going to do anything with the thread anyway.” When he continues to stare at her blankly, she shakes her head, saying, “It’s almost Christmas, Rumplestiltskin, and even though you obviously aren’t appreciative, I’ve taken it upon myself to make this gloomy castle of yours a little more cheery.”

He snorts despite himself. “Oh, yes, because a few pieces of string and a fistful of weeds is certainly going to do exactly that.”

Belle purses her lips, apparently not finding that very funny (or perhaps she was looking for something more along the lines of encouragement, not that she’s ever needed that from him once she’s set her mind on something). “Will you unlock the doors, or not?”

He takes a long sip from his teacup, knowing it annoys her to have to wait for a simple answer. What was the harm, really? If she wanted to waste time and effort decorating for Christmas, let her. And despite his natural paranoia, he finds he trusts her not to run away (not that it’ll stop him from keeping an eye on her, just in case).

He waves his hand in a vague fashion. “The door to the courtyard from the kitchen will open at your command,” he says, taking his teacup back to his worktable and setting it down. He turns it so the chip is facing out. “And I still expect dinner at the same time, dearie.”

Rumplestiltskin yells the last part, sensing his maid has already run out, but he can’t be sure she’s heard him over her shriek of utter joy.

~*~

She runs to the kitchen, not wasting any time. Belle can’t contain a smile to see a sturdy pair of boots and a long, heavy cloak awaiting her by the door. In her excitement, she had forgotten that it wouldn’t be practical to go out in snow in just a dress and slippers. Although, the snow has always looked so soft and inviting as she’s looked out through the windows in the rooms she’s cleaned.

Coming from the Southlands, she’s never seen snow before, let alone gone out in it. The coldest it had gotten in her homeland was when it rained and the wind picked up. She remembers it could cut through a person as if it were a sharp blade.

She changes her slippers for the boots, unsurprised to find they are a perfect fit. Before she pulls the cloak on, she selects a paring knife to help with cutting the holly and tucks it away in her apron pocket, and then she grabs the basket she uses when she gets more straw for Rumplestiltskin.

Just as he promised, the door opens with a mere brush from her palm, and she steps out into the courtyard.

The cold takes her breath away. Her smile could rival the sun, were it only shining.

The snow is thick about her legs as she walks through the courtyard and past the gate and to the line of trees that make up the forest. She laughs, suddenly, and after tossing the basket away, she falls backwards into the snow that is gathered to all sides of her. Belle flaps her arms and legs, relishing the cold against her back. She beams when she pulls herself to her feet to see her very first snow angel (and the effect is just as she had read about it in books – what is it about leaving tracks in snow that feels absolutely wonderful?). Her fingers itch to make a snowman, to roll the cold between her hands, but perhaps there will be time for that later. Perhaps grumpy Rumplestiltskin will even join her.

She is panting by the time she reaches the first holly bush. I didn’t realize snow was so heavy, she thinks, setting down her basket and digging for her knife. If she cuts off the smaller branches, she should have plenty of leaves to strip and use once she gets back to the castle.

Belle looks past the bush, further into the forest. She can see pine trees, and how lovely it would be to place the needles in the windows? When she was very young, her mother would bring her pouches full of dried pine needles and leaves. She’d poor the pouch into a wooden bowl and then place it on the table next to Belle’s bed.

It takes a moment for Belle to realize that her feet have already carried her several feet towards the cluster of pines. It takes Belle a moment to realize that she wants very much to take as many branches as she can carry back with her.

She hasn’t smelled pine needles since her mother died. Unaware of the snow that has begun to fall, she walks forward.

~*~

One eye on his potion, one on his sprightly maid, who is running outside with more enthusiasm than he has ever seen from her.

He abstains from rolling his eyes when she plops down in the snow to flail about. She’s laughing though, and it’s such a pretty sound. He watches as she plows her way to the first bush, the snow just below her knee.

Something starts to burn. He looks down at his potion. He’s allowed it to brew far too long, and the once blue liquid is curdling, turning purple.

Rumplestiltskin curses. He turns away from Belle and her laughter.

~*~

Belle had not been provided with a pair of gloves. An oversight, she realizes in hindsight. Her hands are now itching with a new sort of feeling, and she figures that the fact that she can still feel the heat from her body where they are clenched tight against her chest, even if it’s not enough to permeate the cold, must be a good sign.

The knife is tucked safely in her pocket; the basket long since dropped somewhere in the forest. It bothers Belle that the plants she had taken such care in procuring are now lost. It bothers her even more that had she turned back to the castle once she had broken the branches on the pine trees, she would have made it back to the Dark Castle, and would be sitting in front of a warm fire. But she hadn’t stopped at the pine trees, and had instead ventured further into the forest.

She had heard an owl hooting, and she had spotted tracks from a family of dear. Having been deprived of everything save Rumplestiltskin’s company and a castle full of dust for longer than she cared to count, she couldn’t help but press onwards, to explore.

By the time she had noticed that the soft snowfall had covered her own tracks, she was deep into the forest.

By the time the snow was falling fat and thick, Belle knew she was quite lost.

“Rum-R-Rum,” It is getting harder to walk. The snow, when Belle had first gone out in the late afternoon, had been up to her knees. Now, with the sun set and the moon hidden from sight, the snow was well past her thigh and still falling.

“Rum…pl. Ru-“ Belle is tired, and she is cold. All of the trees look the same, all wearing identical coats of snow.

Her breath catches in her throat. The snow is still falling. Belle falls, too.

~*~ 

When Rumplestiltskin enters the dining hall, he is unsurprised to find it empty. Likewise, the kitchen has gone cold, the fire burned all the way down to embers. Without a thought, he brings it up to a blaze, the wood crackling as it burns.

Where has the foolish girl gone off to? He told her to be back for dinner, and yet she is nowhere to be found.

He glares at the kitchen door, and it flies open, banging against the wall, and the sight outside makes Rumplestiltskin pause. There is a flurry of snow falling from the sky. He thinks that even were it the middle of the day, he wouldn’t be able to see the gates through the storm. There are no tracks.

Foolish, foolish, foolish girl.

He never should have taken his eyes off her. He closes them now, reaching out with is magic, trying to find a hint of her trail. As far as he can tell, it leads far into the forest, much farther than she was supposed to go.

With a flick of his hand, he is cloaked in his own winter attire, and he steps outside, in search of his girl.

~*~

Belle awakens in the dining hall, on a soft sheep’s skin next to the crackling fire. Around her shoulders is what must be half a dozen quilts, and her head is pillowed in a leather-clad lap. She frowns, trying to remember what lead her here.

“Are you finally awake, dear?” Rumplestiltskin twitters above her. Belle turns so she is staring up into his face, and she sees he is looking down his nose at her, thoroughly unimpressed (but she can see the anxiety about the eyes. Did he worry when she didn’t make it back?). “You missed dinner.”

Instead of answering, she burrows into his lap. “It’s much warmer in here.”

He makes a chocked sound in the back of his throat. Belle smiles despite herself. “Perhaps you would like something to eat. A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Why move now when you’re so good at keeping me warm?”

He coughs, and she imagines if he could blush, he would do so. “I would have placed you in a chair and been done with it, but I needed to regulate your body temperature. This seemed the easiest way.” He brushes his hand over her curls absently. “I can’t have you heating up too quickly, you see. The shock could have easily killed you, and good help is so hard to come by.”

“Thank you,” she says softly after a pause, “for finding me.” She pulls herself up, blankets and all, and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

Rumplestiltskin goes completely still under her, making another noise that again gets caught in his throat. “It wasn’t too difficult, in the end. What on earth possessed you to go so far into the forest? You said you only wanted the holly.”

“I’ve never had fresh pine needles before,” she mumbles against his chest. “They smell of home, you know.”

He sighs. “I think you’re still delirious.”

She thumps him on the chest, and he lets out a nervous giggle. “But they do.”

After another pause, Rumplestiltskin mummers, “You should eat something.”

Belle nods. “Yeah.” Neither move. “Can we make a snow man tomorrow?” she says around a yawn. 

“You still want to go outside?” He seems taken aback. She smiles.

“Then we can find the basket. I dropped it out there.”

He rolls his eyes. “You and your Christmas spirit.”

“You don’t like Christmas?” It wasn’t really a question when the answer was so obvious.

“Not much to like, really.” He doesn’t tell her that when he was a man, a lowly peasant, he couldn’t afford any presents for Bae, could hardly afford a Christmas dinner (he allows that at least they were together, that at least there was a sparkling moment of happiness amongst the shame and fear of war). There was nothing for him to celebrate when he became the Dark One, and no Bae to celebrate with. No, there wasn’t much for him to like at all.

Belle hums, still pressed against his chest. “Well, you’ve never done it like I have, before.”

“No?”

“Nope. That’s the source of your problem, I’d say.”

Rumplestiltskin makes a noncommittal sound.

“The first step is to build a snow man.”

He gives a great sigh, all dramatics. “Well, my dear, I see that no amount of reasoning or near-death experiences is going to sway you.” Belle lets loose a giggle. “I will build you your snowman.” He says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“No,” she shakes her head before tucking herself under his chin, her eyelids drooping. “We build one together.”

“Together,” he breathes softly.

He rubs her back as she drifts to sleep. And they stay like that for a very long time.


End file.
